Homecoming

Homecoming

S. L. Mewse

Published by S. L Mewse at Smashwords

Copyright 2019 - S. L. Mewse

Copyright information

Copyright © 2019 S. L. Mewse

Cover design © 2019 S. L. Mewse

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means – except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews – without written permission from its publisher.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are entirely fictitious. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

Copyright © 2019 S. L. Mewse

All rights reserved.

Acknowledgements

Thank you to everyone who has given me support of any kind on this long journey of mine into the world of writing.

Thank you, as always, to my wonderful husband, but thank you most of all to those who have supported my work simply out of a love for horror. Thank you to those who have purchased copies online, or stopped and made new friendships through conventions and events.

Thank you most of all to those of you who take the time to leave reviews or interact with me beyond the books, it really does mean the world to me.

A special mention too, to Tish Bruton. Thank you for reading Tish, and for all the cheerleading you’ve done that has helped to keep me writing! You really are a horror-loving sweetheart.

Table of contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Epilogue

Prologue

A thin beam of light filtered through a gap in the heavy-duty blackout curtains that hung across the grubby windows of the tiny room. A sliver of sunlight cut through the darkness within, dust motes swirling across it only to vanish abruptly on its far side. The cloying scent of grime hung heavily in the air and the sounds of people shouting and crying in other rooms permeated the cracked walls.

On the black shape that was a dirty old bed, a figure shifted, and beside them in a high-backed chair a second turned to face it. When no further movements followed, the seated individual pushed to their feet and crossed to the drapes, throwing them wide open and illuminating the filthy room. The floors were covered in a thick film of dust and the walls were dotted with black and green mould.  The chair and the bed were both covered in dirty brown stains, and the door to the adjoining bathroom had long since been torn from its hinges.

On the bed the second person groaned and tugged the sheets over his head.

By the windows, his companion, an older man with scruffy, greying hair and a thick beard used his coat sleeve to wipe dirt from the windowpanes. ‘You’ll have to get up sometime,’ he insisted flatly. ‘It’s almost midday.’ He watched the hustle and bustle on the street below them and flared his nostrils. He could just smell the crispness of the breeze that ruffled the treetops in the park in the distance. The smell of petrol and fumes cut through it, but anything was better than the heavy smell of filth in the room.

The man on the bed pulled the covers down a little, revealing a stark white mess of hair and shark-black eyes. ‘What’s the urgency anyway?’ He asked.

His older companion sighed, the day had barely started and he was already fed up of his shit. ‘We have someone to catch up with.’ He explained.

‘We do our own business.’ The man on the bed replied, sitting upright and pulling the covers around his waist. He was just entering his twenties and was lean and fit with it.

‘Correct.’ The older man replied, turning to face him and revealing a face that it was impossible to forget once it had been seen. Underneath his hair and behind his beard, his tanned skin was dotted with patches that were entirely devoid of colour. His beard was streaked with white, and his eyes mismatched. The left was a rich brown, but the right was pink and bloodshot with a pupil as startlingly red as a maraschino cherry. Only the left eye focussed on the younger man. ‘Sometimes it is necessary to do a bit of networking though, eh? Just to catch up with the clients and find out what they want.’

The blonde man raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you really think that’s wise?’

‘They know what side their bread’s buttered Taron.’ The grizzled man replied with a smirk. ‘We’re safe, trust me.’

Taron wrapped the filthy bed sheet around him and trudged into the bathroom, dropping it around his ankles and sighing with relief as he emptied his bladder. ‘If you say so old man,’ he said as he shook.

‘Would you want to cut off your only supplier?’ He stepped away from the window and reached down to pick up an old flip phone from a rickety bedside table.

‘Iericho, they’re hardly likely to find themselves without a source for what they want if we fall off the face of the earth.’ Taron rinsed his hands in cold, brown water at the bathroom sink and grimaced.

The older man was already on the phone, one hand held up to ask for silence from Taron.

After a few rings the line was picked up and at the far end a high-pitched but distinctly male voice questioned. ‘Hello?’

Iericho grinned, his teeth flashing in the sunlight. ‘Hello Daniels, long time no speak.’

There was a long silence, broken only by the sound of rasping breaths.

‘Surely we’re due a meeting?’ Iericho pressed. ‘It’s been years after all.

‘Nearly twenty five.’ The man on the end of the line confirmed. ‘I thought you were dead. I was under the impression that my dealings in recent years had been with one of your descendants.’

‘No such luck.’ Iericho chuckled. ‘Just busy with other endeavours, I’m sure you understand.’ He neglected to inform the other man that he had not created any progeny… At least, none that he was aware of. Better for him to think there were others, ready and waiting to take revenge if any deals between them soured. Any he had used for contact were simply lackeys, nothing more.

‘Quite.’ Daniels agreed sharply.

‘Do you still find yourself interested in what I can provide you?’ Iericho asked, rubbing at his beard with his free hand.

‘Of course.’ The reply was quick and desperate. ‘Things have been rather dull recently, we could all do with some luxury and excitement.’

‘Speaking of luxury, how is the wife?’ Iericho smirked, remembering a petite blonde with curves that could kill.

‘Very well thank you.’ Daniels cut him off before he could say any more. ‘She’ll be pleased to see you I imagine. She’s been complaining about her wardrobe recently, I would think that you could help us with that.’

‘There’s more than the one thing I can offer you. I’ve got some very good news I suspect you’ll be interested in.’ Iericho looked over to Taron, who rolled his dark eyes and strode to the pile of clothes he had dropped on the floor the previous night.

‘Meet me in the usual place.’ Daniels instructed.

‘I can be there by three.’

‘Perfect. Will you be alone?’

‘No, I work with a partner these days.’ Iericho turned his back on Taron, who sat impatiently on the edge of the bed, tapping his foot.

‘That’s unlike you.’ Daniels commented.

‘A lot has changed.’

‘Clearly.’

‘Enough small talk though eh. I’ll see you there.’ Iericho snapped the phone shut and tucked it into his pocket.

‘Are we off?’ Taron asked.

Iericho nodded, walking past him and throwing open the bedroom door to reveal dirty-skinned teenagers slumped against the walls in the corridor. Drying blood decorated the walls and floor. It had been easy enough to make it look like a fight over drugs had gone wrong. Nobody would be missing them any time soon. With a satisfied smile, the greying old werewolf picked his way between limbs and made for the stairs. ‘We’re heading up to London,’ he explained.

Taron followed him in silence, kicking at the slender arm of a dead girl as he walked over her legs. The body collapsed in a tangled heap of limbs and both men smiled to themselves. It had been an interesting night.

It was always good to let your hair down, after all.

Chapter 1

Hunter Dalton reached for the grubby buttons on the radio in his rusting old work van and hit play with one work-hardened finger. Outside the vehicle the summer sun blared down and waves of heat swirled up from the roads. There had been no rain in weeks and the plants were suffering for it, but at least that had kept him in business. He sat and fiddled with the stations for a moment, thinking on how lucky he had been whilst his last customer waved at him from her cottage window. With a smile he waved back, the motion small as his focus remained on the sounds drifting from the car speakers. He cycled through pop, classical numbers and the local news before finally finding something he could just about bear. It was soft rock, and it was a little soppy for his tastes, but it would do in a pinch.

Feeling satisfied he turned his keys in the ignition and the engine roared into life. With one final wave over his shoulder he quickly checked his mirrors and then pulled out into the road. There was no traffic and his clear green eyes did not linger on the road behind him for long. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove, the air blasting through the vents ruffling his greying hair around his scarred face. He was greying fast since Theiss’ visit to the pack house, but it suited him. Eve told him he looked distinguished, which he found amusing given her ever-youthful visage.

As he drove he glanced at the gardens that rolled by the windows and made a mental note of which doors to put a business card through the next morning. Once he had moved back into his old home with Eve he had started up his landscaping business again and simply moved to another nearby village to work. Too much time had passed in the previous one without much visible sign of ageing on his part; he suspected people had been beginning to talk. Luckily enough the trip to the new village only took around a half an hour, and there were plenty of people eager to buy his time and services. He knew that in time he would have to move his work again, but experience told him that he had a good ten years before it would be necessary. The only real irritation with the move had been the staring when the weather had gotten warm enough to warrant working shirtless. The scars on his body were significantly worse than the ones on his face, and some of the older clients had been very concerned by them. One little old lady had even given him some oil that was supposed to help, but he had never tried it. It would only stick in his chest hair and make him feel greasy.

The van reached a junction in the road and Hunter slowed to a crawl, catching sight of himself in the rear view mirror as he scanned the roads. Two scars cut across his face, running through both eyebrows and vanishing under his scruffy, long hair. Twigs and leaves clung to his t-shirt and the bags under his eyes were huge and dark. Summer was a very busy season for him, and he would be grateful in a way when autumn rolled around.

With no cars to wait for, he crawled out into the road he was turning onto and shot up through the gears until he was pushing 80 miles an hour. He knew the roads well and he was keen to get home, so he was not worried about the speed at which he was travelling. He just wanted to get back to his dinner, which he knew Eve would be getting ready to cook as he drove. They often cooked together, and shared all duties in the house. It was just like life at the pack house had been before they had moved. Shared duties were just a part of life. Old habits died hard, he supposed.

It did not take long for him to reach his destination, and as he pulled up on the roadside outside the cottage they called home the door swung slowly open. Standing in the doorway dressed in flour splattered jeans and a t-shirt, Eve smiled and waved.

‘I’ve been working on something special!’ She shouted as he clambered out of the car.

‘Ohh, do I get a clue then?’ He smirked, raising an eyebrow at her questioningly. The air outside the van was stiflingly hot and he pulled his t-shirt over his head the second he had locked up the doors. He was pleased to see her demeanour was cheerful, as that had become something of a rarity.

Eve allowed her eyes to wander over him and her friendly smile melted into a wanton smirk. ‘You’ll smell it when you get inside the house, you can probably smell it already.’ She fixed his clear, green eyes with her bright blue ones.

‘Past all this sweat, I doubt it!’ He laughed, rubbing his chest hair with his shirt and then throwing it at her.

Eve dodged the missile but was not fast enough in her recovery to avoid the rib-crushing embrace that followed. ‘Get off me! You stink!’ She protested, pushing at him with her palms and squirming to escape. ‘I swear you sweat enough for three men.’

Hunter kissed her forehead and released her, grabbing the t-shirt off the floor and scrubbing under his arms with the ball of crumpled material, then giving her a light slap on the rump as she turned to walk back to the kitchen. ‘We all run hot don’t we,’ he chuckled.

‘Some of us more so than others!’ She replied quickly. ‘Do you think you could help me prep some veg?’ She asked.

‘I’ll just grab a quick shower and then I’m at your disposal.’ He trailed his hand across the back of her neck as he passed her by, laughing to himself when she flinched away from the tickling sensation.

Ok, don’t take ages though, will you?’ She gestured to the kitchen, rubbing the spot he had touched on her skin. She loved him as much as she ever had, but being in love with him had become harder and harder as time passed by. The daily stresses and strains of life and the aftermath of the trouble with the pack had left her feeling a simmering anger that was always threatening to boil over at the littlest thing. She forced herself to be flirtatious, hoping that true warmth and desire might follow, but most days she barely tolerated the little things he did that drove her mad. She always tried to tell herself that he didn’t mean to and to remind herself of how passionate things had been in the beginning, but some days that was hard to do. That day however, she was determined to force it. 

Hunter mumbled a reply as he jogged upstairs and stepped out of his jeans and socks. He grabbed a towel out of the airing cupboard and switched on the shower, sliding off his boxers and hopping into the hot stream of water with a satisfied sigh. He lathered himself in soap and rubbed at the taught muscles in his shoulders. Hours of digging up weeds and hauling earth and rocks kept him fit but often left him feeling sore.  By the time he had washed his hair and rinsed the soap away, Eve was calling up the stairs for him.

‘Are you done in there?’ She asked. ‘I want you to see what I’ve made for us.’

‘I’m on my way!’ He called back, stepping out of the shower and turning it off. He scrubbed himself dry and tossed his discarded clothes into the wash bin in the corner. It only took him a minute or two to find a clean t-shirt and some loose grey tracksuit bottoms in the drawers beside the bed in their room. He wasn’t doing anything else for the day; there was no need to be pristine.

The earthy smell of vegetables and the sharp, heavy scent of blood drifted from the kitchen. He jogged back down the stairs, following his flaring nostrils and picking up scent after scent. The richness of butter, a myriad of spices, the distinctive aroma of mushrooms.

‘I think I can guess what it is.’ He smiled as he turned into the room, eyeing up the food on the side that still needed preparing. ‘Wellington?’

‘Venison.’ She confirmed, turning with a huge dish in her hands to show him the contents.

‘It’ll take us days to get through that!’ He sniffed at it, stooping to kiss her waiting lips and taking it from her to deposit on the sideboard.

‘I highly doubt that with you in the house!’ She laughed, her eyes twinkling in the sunlight that filtered through the windows. ‘I need some potatoes and carrots peeling and chopping please? I was thinking mustard mash and honey roasted carrots with some runner beans?’

‘Sounds delightful.’ Hunter mocked jovially, fishing in the drawers for a peeler and getting to work. ‘You know I’m always happy with whatever your palette chooses, you’ve got impeccable taste mi’ lady.’ He glanced at her over his shoulder just in time to see her roll her eyes.

‘If this is how you talk to the old ladies then I’m not surprised business is going so well.’ She laughed to herself, bending to place their dinner in the oven and then topping and tailing the greens she had suggested. Her laughter was almost genuinely happy, but the forced undertone betrayed her. ‘How long do you think before you’ll need to move on?’ She asked as she worked, putting her back into slicing and dicing.

‘I think I have a good few years yet.’ Hunter reassured her. ‘Half of my clientele have died in the time I’ve been working there, so the people who will remember my face as too young for my age are half gone. I know it’s been a good few years now, but I’m sure I’m safe.’

‘Positive? It has been nearly fifteen years now, if my maths is correct?’

‘Honestly, don’t worry yourself.’ He gave her another playful tap on the rear, making her jump.

‘For Christ’s sake, do you want me to cut off a finger?’ She yelped, checking her hands to find them mercifully mark free.

Hunter laughed. ‘You are such a drama queen sometimes!’

‘Oh yeah, sure! I’m the drama queen. You’re the one who flinches at the slightest hint of menace in a horror film!’

‘I like my entertainment happy.’

‘Boring more like.’

‘Each to their own eh. I don’t tell you that your collection of gore master videos is weird do I…. Though now that I mention it, it kind of is!’ He poked at her with his elbow, but she easily avoided him.

‘Hey, I’m not judging, but your love of fluffy kitten videos is kind of odd. Don’t you think?’ She poked out her tongue at him and then laughed sharply, somewhere between feeling genuinely happy and muted by her inner misery. ‘The one with the pirate costume is pretty cute though.’

They went back and forth that way for a while, good-naturedly mocking each other and laughing at old memories. They had been through a lot with the pack, but since they had been living together in the old cottage that Hunter had lived in alone before his introduction to the pack, things had been almost exclusively serene. There had been no fights within the pack’s lands, and though Eve had kept her job as one of the recovery team for rogue shapeshifters in the UK, she had been called on only twice in nearly twenty years. It almost seemed as though in the wake of Nanisca’s clan being disbanded, the world had found a kind of peace with itself again. Of course, this was only as far as the pack was concerned. Eve was stuck in a mire of misery waiting for some sign of the boy she had lost, and Hunter had not forgotten the note that had fallen onto the doormat all those years ago. He was permanently vigilant in case of signs of the return of Nikolai Varulv’s child. He was very careful not to give any indication of his nerves around his mate, as he knew what the discovery of his continued existence would do to her. She had struggled to adjust to his loss badly enough, without the uncertainty of knowing he was still out there. She would always see him as a child who needed saving, and Hunter knew that was about as far from the truth as it was possible to be. The child was broken, and there was no fixing that. He had never formed a plan for if the boy ever returned, he just lived on in blind hope that he would stay away, and cherished the good times while they lasted as best he could. He tried not to dwell on the fact that good had faded to mediocre, and his relationship with the woman he loved no longer filled his life with joy or warmth or relaxation. He would have his shell of a relationship and he would make it work if it killed him.

Chapter 2

Evan Daniels stood at the broad, high windows of his first floor office with an anxious expression clouding his ruddy-cheeked face. He stood out like a sore thumb against the décor in his plumb-coloured suit and pressed white shirt. The room around him was vast and tastefully decorated with antique furniture in a selection of dark woods. The walls were a faintly off-white that may have been due to years of smoking, or a deliberate effect. He couldn’t recall. Far too many years had passed.

Nervously the portly, middle-aged man took a step closer to the sparkling windows and almost pressed his nose to the glass. His breath fogged the panes as he scanned the city streets below for any sign of his visitor. He couldn’t bring himself to think of him as a guest, or even an associate. No, he was a caller in the way that a Jehovah’s Witness or a travelling salesman would have been. Not someone you wanted your neighbours seeing you talking with and not an individual you’d like to admit to knowing.

But then he did have his perks… Things that could be obtained in no other way could be purchased through him, and lord knew that Evan’s wife could find satisfaction in no other things. She had very particular tastes that woman, and after experiencing the warm embrace of something so rare and exclusive she would not be persuaded to even consider anything less unique. Daniels screwed up his face in agitation at the thought of it; she had no idea how much she had cost him. And yet he could not deny her. The perks were too great, her gratitude too lusty and the spares too profitable. He hated her, but he loved her.

His eyes darted to the left as he noticed a scruffy man exiting an alleyway on the far side of the road, and for a moment his heart stopped, but it was not him. A quiet sigh of relief escaped his thin lips and he took a step back away from where he could be seen watching. He caught sight of himself in the glass then prissily straightened his jacket and ran a hand through his thin, grey hair. He still considered himself to be something of a catch, he had money and connections after all, but he was under no illusions regarding his physical appearance. He was plain verging on unattractive; his eyes sat a touch too close together and were a cold shade of grey. His skin was cut through with thin, red veins on his cheeks and nose and he had a permanent blush due to his search for solace in gin and whiskey. His lips were so narrow that his mouth appeared like a slit in the flabby expanse of the bottom half of his face, and his chin creased into not one multiple, but two. His hair was styled slightly long in an effort to give him something to scrape back over the thinning patch on his crown, and the colour was something like rusted steel. Here and there strands of his original colour, a deep blonde, struck through the expanse of dull, brittle tufts. He attempted to tame it with oils, but only succeeded in slicking it down with copious amounts of product. The end result was a greasy, lecherous look that was only enhanced by the tone of his laugh and the way he could never quite keep his eyes from wandering. His physique was equally as bad as his face and he often found himself wondering where it had all gone wrong. He had once been active in numerous sports and a keen member of the local hunting troupe, but years of rich food and a dependence on alcohol had gotten the better of him. That day, where he stood, he was 5"8 tall and a little over 17 and a half stone. His thighs chafed when he walked and a fatty pad of flesh almost entirely hid his penis from him. Even his back carried extra weight.

Evan sighed and leaned a little closer to the window once more. He wondered if Melissa, his wife, would still be fucking him if it did not pay for her lavish lifestyle. He walked over to his desk and picked up the picture of her that sat beside his leather-bound appointments book. He doubted it. She was not a model, far from it, but he had always been aware that he was punching above his weight with her. She was that particular kind of attractive that one only found in the well off. A polished, somehow rather bland vision of loveliness that depended mainly on her sense of confidence. In her younger years her skin was flawless and tanned carefully with the aid of a tastefully picked shade of spray colour. Her hair had been naturally blonde, and her figure slender and lithe thanks to what might have been a promising career in tennis had she not been too much of a brat upon losing a match. Still, her parents had pushed her and she had been active enough to keep herself in fabulous shape. That, coupled with her sparkling blue eyes were the only two things about her that had not changed. Her figure remained slim and toned, and she had a mischievous sparkle behind her gaze, though her face around those eyed had aged badly enough to warrant cosmetic surgery. Just one look at her was enough to let you know that she thrived on taboo, and she had gained something of a reputation over the years. They had once been active swingers and had held the most lavish, drink and drug fuelled parties, but as she aged and her skin began to sag she had lost interest. The younger girls made her feel inadequate, that was what she told him, and so they had to find their thrills elsewhere.

And that was where the old drifter had come in.

For years their marriage had been suffering. Melissa had taken a string of lovers and Evan had eventually done the same. Both of them had developed their own separate cocaine habits and for a long time had been oblivious to the other’s love of the exhilaration behind those highs. Eventually Evan had walked in on her being seen to by a much younger man, bent over their chaise lounge with her eyes closed and her breasts jiggling as white powder dusted down from her reddened nostrils. The scene was burned into his memory. He could remember every sordid detail down to the way she glared defiantly at him when her partner had shouted in surprise at his appearance. They had fought bitterly after that, once the other man had been thrown out of the house by Evan in a fit of rage. At first it had seemed as though they might not recover; she had told him that he bored her and he had screamed in her face that she could at least have had the decency to hide her infidelities. Then he had asked her about the drugs, and she had told him everything. In return he had made his own confessions, and they had decided to make another go of things. He knew he would not find another woman so ready to endure him, and she was all too aware that she needed his money.

After that incident it was decided that they needed to do something to spice up their failing marriage. Evan had suggested that they go back into swinging, but she would not hear of it. Sex was not solving their problems, only exacerbating things, that was what she had told him. He had countered with an offer of carefully planned orgies, with only more mature individuals being permitted. She had sneered at the idea of a mass of pendulous testicles and sagging breasts. When he asked her what she